No Legal Grounds by James Scott Bell

hanging up.” But he held for just a second more.
“I’m talking about your child, Sam. The one your girlfriend had. The one who’s alive and well and living in good old Southern California. Did you tell Linda about the kid, Sam?”
Sam was speechless, numb.
“I didn’t think so,” Nicky Oberlin said.
2.
    “Your dad is a little out there,” Roz said, lighting a cigarette. “He means well,” Heather said.
“You want one?” Roz held out the pack of Camels. Roz smoked
    the unfiltered kind. She didn’t want any filters in her life, of any kind. Heather shook her head.
“He just doesn’t get it,” Heather said.
They were sitting in the backyard of Roz’s house, late morning. Roz lived with her mother in a house that backed up to the 118 freeway. Exhaust was the neighborhood perfume.
“So you in for the whole deal?” Roz asked.
“Yeah.”
“We go play the Cobalt tomorrow.”
“We ready for that?”
“We will maim them.” Roz took another puff.
Heather said nothing. Roz was the drummer and organizer of the band. Heather sang lead and wrote most of the material. Buck and Raymond were guitar and bass. Screech Monk was only one good set away from a record deal. So went the dream.
Heather fought back tears.
“What’s wrong, dude?” Roz asked.
“Everything sucks.”
“Of course it does.”
“I hate it.”
“Use it. Write songs.”
“What am I gonna do? I can’t stay here forever. I have to get a place or something.”
“What about school?”
“I’m not going back.”
“You gonna get a job?”
“I guess.”
“Or maybe we get a contract, huh? Hit it big.”
“Sure.”
“Think we can?”
“Why not? We’re good.” Pause. “Aren’t we?” They had to be good, because singing was the only thing she cared about and knew her dad didn’t approve of. They had to be good, because she had to show him she could make it. Had to prove that his way, his allAmerican tunnel vision was not something he could push on her.
She knew it hurt him. She didn’t want him hurt. But he was like a rock you couldn’t talk to when it came to certain things. They needed time away from each other.
Maybe she’d stick around long enough to see how Screech Monk did at the Cobalt. If nothing happened, she could always duck out of everything forever, out of life and the pain of it. Her family’d be better off without her existence.
3.
    Steel clamps squeezed Sam’s brain as he sat alone in the Chinese restaurant, the place Nicky had selected for their meeting.
    One clamp was Heather. The other was what Nicky Oberlin had just laid on him.
Sam’s child. His mistake. His shame.
How had Nicky found out? Sam had buried this secret long ago, even though jabs of inner pain would recur periodically, like an unwanted guest pounding on the door. He’d try to ignore them and usually they would go away. But every now and then the pounding got louder.
He once asked his pastor about this, shortly after becoming a Chris tian. Didn’t Christ take away all that? Wasn’t he forgiven? Weren’t his sins washed away?
Yes, Pastor Lyle explained, but there are always consequences for sin, and one of those is the stain. We are forgiven, yes, but our souls are affected. Sometimes Satan likes to bring the past to mind, to keep us down.
Now, prompted afresh by what Nicky had threatened, Sam couldn’t help thinking back to what he’d done.
Her name was Mary and he’d met her at a party in Isla Vista during his freshman year. It was a typical Isla Vista party with a couple kegs and a generous sharing of bongs. Sam was on the scope that night, trolling for a date, having broken up a few weeks ago with another girl.
His memory of the party was fuzzed by the brain cloud he’d created in himself that night with the combination of items he ingested. Was Nicky even there? He couldn’t remember that, because he’d not thought of Nicky at all since leaving the dorm.
But he did remember Mary.
She was a good-looking blonde, slight in a way that made him